Endurance: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Highway Book 2) Read online

  ENDURANCE

  A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller

  by

  John Q. Prepper

  &

  M.L. Banner

  Copyright © 2016 by Toes in the Water Publishing, LLC

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9908741-5-7 (Paperback)

  ISBN-10: 0-9908741-5-X (Paperback)

  ISBN: 978-0-9908741-4-0 (eBook)

  ASIN: B01EXMWE3G (Kindle eBook)

  First Edition: 7/28/2016

  ENDURANCE is an original work of fiction.

  The characters, dialogs, and many of the places mentioned are purely the products of these authors’ imaginations.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Published by

  www.toesinthewaterpublishing.com

  Table of Contents

  Prelude

  Phase Two

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Phase Three

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Did you like ENDURANCE?

  About the Authors

  Prelude

  July 4th, 02:10

  DOE Facility Yucca Lake, Nevada

  In moments, their nuclear bombs would lay waste to America. But first, Commander Mohammad Hamid had a job to do.

  His thirty-five men were among the most important warriors in the Islamic Front in America. They would be among two teams leading Phase Two of the operations in four days. After months of preparations leading up to this moment, they had only to secure the base before the bombs exploded. And that would be very soon.

  He tapped his fingers impatiently on the front dash of the older Army convoy truck parked on the side of Mercury Avenue, only fifty feet from the Yucca Lake Airfield entrance. Any moment now, Ahmed, from the advance team, would signal them forward.

  He felt proud to have been given so much authority by IFA’s founder, Abdul Raheem Farook, their soon-to-be Mahdi leading them to the new caliphate on earth.

  The crack of several gunshots echoed in the distant night, and Mohammad turned to their sounds.

  He caught a couple of flashes in front of the dark outline of one of the buildings, on the other side of the gate. Their corresponding pops sounded only a second later.

  Mohammad’s pulse quickened with excitement; it wouldn’t be long now.

  He thought about what his men had already accomplished and what would happen in the next hour or two, and smiled.

  Months ago, his IT warriors deployed undetectable keystroke-logging software into military base computers throughout the US, including the DOE’s systems inside this facility. This gave them access to passwords and, more importantly, a back door into military computers at over a hundred Air Force bases. Only one base figured this out in time. Then only an hour ago, they turned off the bases’ systems and locked their personnel out.

  Mohammed knew all the bases affected had already put their best technicians on the problem of regaining control of their computer systems. But he also knew it would be fruitless for these infidels. Although one or two might succeed, the remainder wouldn’t. And soon they wouldn’t have power to control them.

  Phase One of their plan would happen shortly. He tilted his wrist and clicked on the green glow of his watch. Its luminescence cast against his stern face as he performed mental calculations made him look ghostly to his driver, who apprehensively watched his every move.

  Only one hour fifteen minutes more, he thought.

  That was when they’d detonate their nukes at the various cities and three military locations. Then, moments later, their Russian partners’ nuclear-tipped missiles would explode over America, plunging this corrupt country into chaos. The American power grid would go down and most everything electronic—at least utilizing solid-state circuits—would be dispossessed of its working circuitry. The machinery of America would cease to function, and with it, the food and water would stop, and shortly after this, its civilian population would riot in the streets.

  And their military would be effectively neutralized, leaving no one to save them.

  Because most of America’s military bases were directly connected to the civilian grid, they would be crippled with its population. Although most of their hardware was protected against EMPs, a lot of it wouldn’t be. And regardless of whether a military base was EMP-hardened or not connected to a civilian grid, Mohammad’s team, along with one in Alabama, would finish them off as part of Phase Two starting on July 9th.

  Only his team knew of their location. Even Farook didn’t know they were at this base. He had told Farook they would launch from Creech AFB, outside of Las Vegas. It was only for their protection in the event their cell was broken up by the American government or if there was a mole in their organization. It was his prerogative as this cell’s leader to tell what he wanted to Farook. Soon it would not matter. Once they took over this base and the bombs fell on America, even if the other base in Alabama didn’t participate, his team would bring glory to Allah.

  He couldn’t wait for their time of glory to begin.

  The radio crackled a hiss, and then a voice speaking Arabic told him their entrance to the base was clear.

  He picked up the portable resting on the dash. “Thank you, Ahmad,” he said; then to the driver, “Forward.”

  The driver fired up the truck’s ignition and they lurched forward. The other dozen Army trucks followed a train of vehicles that snaked its way through the gate and into the airfield.

  Their part of this war had just begun.

  Phase Two

  “Islam isn’t in America to be equal to any other faith but to become dominant.”

  –Omar Ahmad, Co-Founder CAIR (Council on American Islamic Relations)

  “America must be burned! America is no good at all.”

  –Louis Farrakhan, Leader of the Nation of Islam

  From the Quran:

  “…The end of the world will surely come to pass” Verse 85, Sura 15

  “Therefore, watch for the day when the sky brings a profound smoke.” Verse 44, Sura 10

  “And this profound smoke will be unleashed by our warriors, raining terror upon

  the infidel’s military. And the infidel will collapse under our boots.”

  –Imam Ramadi, July 8th, Crystal Waters, Florida

  Chapter 1

  July 9th

  Hasta Army Base, 7 Miles from Endurance, Florida

  “Come on, you pansies. Double-time!” Drill Sergeant Reyno
lds yelled at Bravo Squad.

  The thuds of their boot falls grew immediately louder as Bravo increased their pace, hugging the fence line. The practice field was now coming into view, and therefore the end of their run. It was then that they all knew they would make it.

  “I heard we may be shipping out today,” Private Jones huffed. He was always hearing things.

  They rounded a corner, each darting over the many fronds cast off from the ubiquitous palmetto trees ringing the base.

  “Where?” Private Simpson puffed. The smallest of the squad’s three women, she was known for her toughness and economy of words. She focused on keeping her breathing rhythmic.

  “What diff? As long as we get to kill jihadi scum,” Jones answered.

  “We’ll get our revenge,” Private First Class O’Malley said calmly behind them, seemingly not winded.

  They pulled up to their starting point, after a full ten laps around base, a total of twelve miles with full packs. Although tired, they were all feeling pretty good.

  “Hooah, sir,” Simpson bellowed.

  Reynolds had turned ahead of them and was waiting. “All right, gentlemen and ladies.” He tipped his hat to his squad. “Halt!”

  They all stopped and promptly bent over, lungs heaving for air.

  “Drop packs and pair up.”

  Having been through this exercise before, Bravo Squad complied immediately. Time for their daily hand-to-hand combat drills.

  O’Malley was having trouble with a strap on his pack. So he took a knee and held back from the rest of his squad that had already trotted out to the middle of the open practice field. He knew there was another run to follow, and this might be the only chance he had to adjust it.

  The sound of a motor fluttered in the distant sky, coming from the north. It was faint at first, but quickly became more pronounced. It had speed and the wind behind it.

  Their heads tilted upward, curious more than anything. Since the bastards nuked them, they’d had no power for five days. They’d seen only a few of their older vehicles working, and few things that worked on electricity. Certainly none of them had seen or heard anything in the air that sounded like an aircraft.

  “Is it a plane, Drill Sergeant?” yelled Jones from the field.

  “No doofus, it’s smaller,” chided Simpson. She was mostly oblivious to the small craft; instead she wanted to show off her hand-to-hand skills. Snickering, she warned her partner, “Get ready.”

  “It’s a drone,” Reynolds mumbled mostly to himself. He was surprised that a drone would be flying near them: they were over sixty miles from the nearest Air Force or Army base with a drone program.

  They watched the craft, only a hundred feet in the air, pass over the admin and dormitory buildings on the other side of the practice field. Then it banked hard right and headed for the Gulf.

  “What the hell was …” Jones started to ask before he coughed twice. “Damn, my—” His face twisted into tortured wrinkles, like he’d just been sucker-punched.

  O’Malley pressed a bandanna against his mouth, immediately suspecting the drone was the cause. He glanced at his sergeant kneeling next to him and doing the same with his shirttail.

  “Sir,” pleaded Simpson. She sucked in a deep breath of death and then clawed at her skin, her mouth cast open wide like she was trying to scream. Another gasp emptied the remaining good air held by her lungs.

  “Gas!” Reynolds yelled through his shirt. He pondered for only a second, watching two more of Bravo fall to the ground, gripping their throats. “Run! Water!” He pulled up O’Malley, and they ran for the fence line closest to them, hoping all would follow.

  A few attempted to run. But it was more of a drunken stumble. They seemed disoriented, unable to plot their direction.

  The remainder fell over or were already on the ground.

  Reynolds glanced back. He was shocked to see none of his squad was following them. His toughest soldier, Simpson, was on the ground, convulsing with a final spasm of pain. He knew once they started exhibiting symptoms, there was nothing he could do for them. But it still pained him to see.

  Reynolds and O’Malley catapulted themselves up and over the section of fencing closest to them, ignoring the bites from its barbed-wire crown. They hopped down and slogged through the thick threshold to the ocean.

  Reynolds kept moving. “In the water,” he yelled, and then he flopped in and swam away from the base, not sure how far he had to go, only knowing he needed more distance.

  He heard O’Malley behind him, splashing and coughing.

  “Take your clothes off. They’re covered in poison,” Reynolds coughed again, kicking vigorously while ripping at his own shirt.

  ~~~

  The MQ-1 Predator drone banked again to compensate for a stiff southeasterly wind and followed its course to the next target fifty-eight miles further.

  Its operator, Tariq Al Ufari, sat comfortably in the pilot’s seat some 242 miles away. A counter on his giant control screen counted down the mileage to his next target.

  His hands were steady as he guided the drone on a straight path, the counter on his screen ticking down one mile every twenty-two seconds. When he was within one mile, he would once again depress the button with his left hand while maintaining the yoke with his right. Then he would release the button after only a few seconds. It would be just enough time to release a concentrated dose of sarin gas over the next base. Just enough time to kill everyone on the base and move on to the next one. Well, not quite everyone.

  Of those on the base, 63 percent would die within minutes from inhalation or sarin saturation on just a small percentage of their epidermis. Another 20 percent would die within a day if they didn’t receive an antidote that few carried.

  He gleamed at his effectiveness as a soldier.

  It was far better doing what he did than putting himself at risk by killing only a few infidels on the ground with a rifle. He’d prefer not being a martyr as thousands of his brethren would soon be.

  And with electronics and power down at most bases, and the promise of Allah, his drone would avoid detection from radar equipment or antiaircraft munitions. As long as the drone had enough gas and there was no pilot error, he should be able to bring it back to base for refueling and then send it back out for several more runs before the end of the day. By his count, he would be responsible for eliminating at least thirty military bases.

  And between his base and the one in Nevada, and with the help of their Russian partners, they would have neutralized most of the US military before they knew what hit them.

  Beep-beep-beep.

  His proximity alert to target (PATT) went off, telling him that his drone was within two miles of the target. He’d already forgotten its name.

  He removed his left hand from the release mechanism and tapped the control panel, bringing up the details: MacDill Air Force Base.

  Clicking another button on his control panel brought up the drone’s underside camera feed. A window popped up with the live feed of its canisters nested in the much larger front aerial feed showing the upcoming base.

  The counter, set to go off at five hundred meters, turned from flashing red to solid red.

  Tariq punched the big red button and watched the lethal spray cascade out of both canisters. Within seconds, it would rain down on the 12,000 military and 1,300 civilian personnel below. By the time his drone maneuvered to his next target, 63 percent would be dead. That was almost 9000 lives he’d exterminate in a matter of minutes.

  He grinned at the thought.

  Chapter 2

  Sunbay Cove, Florida

  Lexi

  “No!” Frank barked at Lexi.

  “None of that limp-wristed stuff, come at me with all you’ve got.” He had flashes of his drill sergeant when he went through basic.

  She glared at him, first taking in his leg brace; then the sling on his arm to prevent undue movement, which might tear at the healing gunshot wound in his shoulder; and finally his
bruised and puffy face. He looked really old today, not much of an opponent against a lethal weapon like her Gerber survival knife.

  “Don’t worry; your blade won’t even come close to me, no matter what you do.” He motioned her forward with his free hand.

  It was a little taunt, and she bit.

  She lunged at him with her serrated blade. This time, with much more balance, her wrist stiff, the blade a natural extension to her arm, she thrust.

  Twisting from the waist, he blocked with his immobilized arm and grabbed her wrist with his free hand while spinning and pulling on her, using her forward motion against her.

  He was a blur.

  Both the knife and Lexi ended up on the ground. Her head bounced hard off a patch of dandelions, startling up a bouquet of seedpods. Like the burst from a white chalk-line on a baseball diamond, the wispy pods erupted and enveloped her.

  Frank stood over her, concerned by the way she’d struck her head. But when he saw her face was filled with disgust and not pain, he forced back a grin while offering a free hand.

  She pulled herself up instead, forgoing his assistance.

  When he saw her standing somewhat hunched and shrouded in dandelion seeds, but definitely unhurt, he snickered. His chest started an involuntary quiver that undulated throughout his body. His hand, still outstretched, even though she obviously didn’t need it, picked up the humorous tremor.

  Her scowl, framed in a crown of delicate seed-heads, was too humorous for him to hold back any longer. She looked so young and tried to act so serious. A belly laugh grew until he couldn’t restrain it anymore.

  She batted away his hand and attempted to shoo away the innocent seeds, as if she were trying to bat away bees attracted to her sweat. Several remained glued to her sticky brow.

  It took a moment, but he finally regained his composure.

  Frank now attempted some positive reinforcement. “Listen, it takes most trainees days to get the hang of this. You’re actually doing quite well after only a couple of hours.”